Malik had had just about as much as he could take of Jack Merriweather.
The way the gangster turned informer talked, you’d be forgiven for assuming that he was doing the CPS and the police some sort of favour by testifying in the Vamen trial, rather than simply saving his own skin. Merriweather had been Neil Vamen’s right-hand man and a member of the Holtz set-up for at least fifteen years, probably more. It was inconceivable that he hadn’t committed murder on their behalf, and, given the evidence against him for more recent crimes, he’d had no choice but to turn against his former allies and employers. Now he was denying any knowledge at all of the whereabouts of Terry Duffy, a small-time thief and thug who’d gone out one morning for some cigarettes and never been seen again. Duffy had left behind a pregnant partner and a two-year-old son. It was known he owed Neil Vamen money over a drug deal and was having difficulty paying him back. In the last week, a potential witness had come forward and claimed that she’d heard Merriweather say he’d been one of those involved in the kidnapping and disposal of the body. The family were desperate for news, even if it was simply the location of the remains, so that they could get some sort of closure on the case. Unsurprisingly, Merriweather was denying any knowledge of the incident.
‘I knew the bloke,’ he’d told Malik, ‘but that’s all. I didn’t have nothing to do with killing him, and I don’t know who did. Or even if he’s dead.’
It was bullshit of course, but there wasn’t much Malik could do about it, and now it was a quarter to seven and he was finished there. It hadn’t been a very satisfactory visit. Merriweather had also never heard of Stegs Jenner, which wasn’t going to help the case against the SO10 man, especially since very little had gone on in the Holtz set-up that their chief witness hadn’t known about. It left Malik with a flicker of doubt about Stegs’s guilt, which was something he could have done without, but he was also aware that Merriweather had never given up the names of any police officers involved with the Holtzes, so either it was an area of the business he’d steered clear of or, for whatever reason, he’d made a conscious decision not to say anything about them. Once again, inconclusive.
But right now, Malik’s home and family beckoned. He left Merriweather sitting in the office they’d been using at the back of the house. The discussions had moved on to the upcoming trial, and the ex-gangster was in good cheer, swigging happily from a can of taxpayer-funded Foster’s, seemingly unworried about the ordeal ahead. ‘Don’t you worry about a fucking thing, Asif,’ he bellowed after the SO7 man, in a tone of camaraderie that Malik could have done without. ‘It’ll be a doddle.’ Malik lifted a hand to acknowledge that he’d heard Merriweather’s boast but kept walking. It had better be a doddle, he thought to himself, because if their star witness didn’t come through the case was in a lot of trouble.
Luckily, Merriweather was a resilient character. He had to be, given that less than two weeks before there’d been not one but two attempts on his life, and that, whatever happened in the coming weeks, he was a marked man for the rest of his days. Already his wife had left him, unable to equate the man she knew with the man he’d become, and had taken the kids with her, and it was a possibility that he’d never see any of them again, because to do so would be such a security risk. He was truly on his own (particularly now that his request for visits from his girlfriend had been turned down), which was a lot for a man to live with. But so far Merriweather was managing, and managing remarkably well. In that respect, he was a perfect witness. In every other respect he was an arsehole, and a nasty one at that.
As he walked past the lounge on the way to the front door, Malik waved at the two plainclothes officers who were acting as Merriweather’s guards. ‘Thanks for that, gents. It’s been a pleasure.’ He rolled his eyes.
‘Take it easy, Asif,’ said the younger of the two, Dan Harold, a guy Malik knew vaguely. He didn’t know Harold’s colleague, Bill Cheek, who simply nodded.
‘Fat chance of that,’ Malik replied with a chuckle as he opened the door.
His mobile rang, and it made him wonder, not for the first time, what anyone had ever done before the advent of the mobile phone. Had a lot easier time of it, probably. Shutting the door behind him, he put the receiver to his ear.
‘Malik.’
The voice that spoke to him was artificial, robotic. Slurred a little. ‘Jack Merriweather is in imminent danger. There’s a leak within SO7. The leak is DCS Noel Flanagan. He’s in the pay of Neil Vamen and has released Merriweather’s current location.’ The voice reeled off the address.
Malik froze. It was correct. What the hell was going on? He opened his mouth to say something but the voice continued.
‘Neil Vamen has arranged through his solicitor, Melvyn Carroll, for assassins to visit his premises in the very near future to carry out Merriweather’s killing. You are advised to act accordingly.’
The phone went dead and Malik was left staring at it, wondering exactly how near the near future was.